


Well Done, Grasshopper

by kasey8473



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasey8473/pseuds/kasey8473
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel discovers a secret about Ellen Harvelle and sort of…perhaps…gives Dean the wrong impression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Done, Grasshopper

**Author's Note:**

> Set in S5.

He thought nothing of materializing inside the motel room because that was what he always did. Humans who didn’t know him tended to be surprised when he appeared out of thin air. They yelled and screamed and ran, like that hysterical woman at the last place Sam and Dean had stayed at. The one who’d sprayed him in the eyes with something Sam had called ‘pepper spray’. It was less annoying to materialize in the room to begin with.

The television was on. Castiel ignored it for the time being, taking a quick glance about the room to discover Dean’s whereabouts. He wasn’t in the main room, water running in the bathroom. Since Sam was on a stake-out of some sort, it had to be Dean in there.

Castiel sat down on the end of the bed to wait and raised his gaze to the tv. On the screen, a man and woman were engaged in vigorous sexual relations. He blinked, then tilted his head slightly to one side. They appeared to be enjoying themselves, yet a closer, almost clinical scrutiny revealed the woman to be bored. She made plenty of noise and thrashed around, but her boredom was obvious to him. She was simply going through the motions. The man, however, appeared to have no difficulty enjoying the act.

He watched a moment longer, noting a few things to ask Dean about later.

Should he turn the tv off? Since he had no desire to watch the program that action made sense. Still…. The last time he’d played with the buttons, curious as to what each one did, something had shorted out and Dean and Sam had been without a tv for the remainder of their week in that room. Dean had yelled at him in an irrational manner until realizing Sam’s laptop still had internet -- and therefore porn --, then forbidden Castiel to ever touch the tv again. It did no good to tell him the tv short wasn’t Castiel’s fault. Sam tried. However, Castiel wasn’t absolutely certain it wasn’t _somehow_ his fault.

Things like that just seemed to happen around him these days.

Reaching out with one finger, he pressed the button marked ‘power’, careful to touch only that particular button.

With a small internal sigh, he wondered how much longer until Dean left the bathroom and would it violate Dean’s personal space rules if he simply went in there? After a moment of contemplation, Castiel decided that if he had to think about it, perhaps it _would_ be an ill-advised action. Instead, he turned his attention to the bed beside him, picking up the magazine there and looking at the pages Dean had left it open to. The two pages were wrinkled.

A curvy blond reclined on a red fabric bedecked bed, her pose leaving little doubt as to what she was on the bed for. He studied her, taking account of the nice proportions of her limbs and the sleek muscles beneath the skin. She was quite attractive, he decided, and even had a vague resemblance to Jo Harvelle in her profile. Flipping to the front cover, he recognized the publication as one of Dean’s favorites and one he himself had flipped through several times before over the past weeks while waiting for Dean and Sam. Castiel reopened the magazine to the blond woman, head tilting once more as he squinted at the picture. Was that a mole on her right inner thigh?

The bathroom door opened, Dean stepping out in a cloud of steam. He was half dressed.

“Cas!” Dean’s eyes widened. “You’re touching the magazine!”

He waited for further obvious exclamations, making no move to set down the magazine. Sometimes Dean made several obvious exclamations in a row. His highest was six by Castiel’s count.

“You know the rules.” Dean drew his shirt on. “That one and ‘Busty Asian Babes’ are off-limits. Even Sammy follows that rule.”

“You’re obsessed with strange rules that make no sense.” Castiel touched one finger to the page directly on the blond woman’s breasts. “You like this blond woman. She appears to be a regular subject of pictures in the publication. You continually turn down the corner of the pages featuring,” raising the magazine, he searched for a name, “Honey.” He raised his brows. “Is that her real name?”

“Probably not.”

“You do realize her resemblance to Jo Harvelle is only passing. Jo is much more attractive.”

Dean pointed a finger at him. “Stay out of my head.” Striding forward, he took hold of the magazine. “Give me that. You’re going to get her all smudgy.”

With a final glance at ‘Honey’, and the slightly wrinkled page she was on, Castiel relinquished it. “It appears you’ve already ‘gotten her smudgy’.”

Dean’s scowl was fierce as he closed the magazine and carefully placed it in his bag. “If you’re really ready for the power of the porn mag….” He turned, “Wait here,” then left the room, leaving the door wide open.

The power of the porn mag? This promised to be enlightening in one way or another. Cas heard the trunk of the Impala slam and then Dean was back, holding something in a rectangular paper bag.

“I’m not relinquishing these lightly. Sam got these to cheer me up after a tough job in Philadelphia so they have some sentimental value. This first one is a classic, amateur publication. They put out four magazines in a year before being shut down. Here’s the thing: the pictures are sort of artsy. They tried to go the classy route and appeal to a different clientele.” He pursed his lips. “It’s like ‘Playboy’ light, with all of the good parts covered up, and I do mean all. Under all that though, it’s still porn. Light porn to start you off and ease you into a study of the feminine form.” He started to hand it to Castiel, then held it back. “The babes in here are smoking hot, regardless of the publication date.”

Castiel took the magazine and flipped to the publication date, doing a quick mental calculation. “The women in here are all old enough at present to be your mother.”

It was a simple, conversational observation that for some reason made Dean’s scowl return. “Thank you, Killjoy.”

“My name is not ‘Killjoy’. You know this, Dean. I can’t fathom why you keep calling me that when --”

“Never mind. Keep that one. It’s now tainted by the stark, horrible realization that those firm nubile curves are probably not that anymore. You suck. Have I mentioned that lately?”

He looked down at the magazine and back up at Dean. “I can keep this one in my possession then?”

“Use it wisely.”

“You’ve given me a present.” The idea pleased him. Giving presents was something Sam said friends and family did for each other. Should he give Dean a gift in return? No one had really explained gift-giving etiquette to him in detail.

“Don’t make a thing of it. Every guy needs his own porn, so now you’ve got some. It’s all yours. The next one I’m not giving up. It’s not that old. Same situation, only it published for a couple years before folding.” Dean handed him the magazine. “Don’t lose it. I expect to get this one back and without smudges. You smudge it, you find me a new one.” He put the paper bag on the bed and turned.

“How _does_ one smudge the pages?” Castiel wasn’t stupid. He _did_ have a general idea what was involved, but not having attempted it, he wasn’t sure of the exact procedure. Was there some certain way things had to be done? From the adult movies Dean and Sam watched, there didn’t appear to be a specific order of things, but with humans, one sometimes couldn’t tell with only observation. Sometimes one had to ask for enlightenment.

Dean scratched his temple with his forefinger, his pose indicating he was deep in thought, and looked over his shoulder. “Okay…. Cas, you remember that conversation we had awhile back about ‘personal time’?”

He thought back. They’d had many conversations on ‘personal this’ and ‘personal that’, so many that sometimes they all blurred together a little in the category of ‘pointless human issues’, many within the sub-category of ‘privacy’. He supposed that sub-category had something to do with Adam and Eve realizing they were naked in the Garden, but he’d never researched it properly to know for certain. “I’m not allowed to stand less than a foot away and if I am, I’d better have a damn good reason, such as protecting you from Lucifer’s killing blow?”

“No, that was personal space.”

“If you can smell your own body odor, it’s time to take a shower or slap on more aftershave?”

“That was personal hygiene.”

“If there’s a rubber band on the doorknob, don’t come in the room?”

“You’re getting warmer.”

“If the Impala’s windows are all steamy and it’s rocking back and forth, don’t materialize in either the front or back seats?”

“Almost there, Cas. Think a bit more.” 

Castiel squinted and tried again. “Always make sure there’s plenty of K-Y and tissues?”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at Castiel. “That would be the talk, yes.”

Relief to find he did remember the talk washed over him. “I do recall the conversation.” The entire lecture had been on sex -- main category -- with several sub-categories, one being the ‘personal time’ Dean now mentioned. 

Dean crossed his arms. “What did I tell you about ‘personal time’ aside from K-Y and tissues?”

“That porn is an essential part of the healthy sexual appetite of any adult male and should be used to add to the enjoyment of self-gratification and occasionally to sexual relations with adventuresome hot women.” Dean had made him repeat that several times during the talk just so he’d remember it. He nodded, certain he’d given the correct wording, and started to ask the question he’d been meaning to ask. “Dean, how does one self --”

“Ask Jimmy,” he interrupted, before Castiel could complete the query.

“I did,” Castiel confessed with a frown. “I asked him directly after we spoke the first time. He laughed.” Not simple laughter either, but peals and peals of out-of-control mirthful laughter.

“He laughed?”

“So hard that if he’d actually been breathing he would have hyperventilated. Then he said that ‘no, he won’t show me how because that’s way too weird’ and I should ‘experiment, but make sure he is sound asleep before I start’. He’s adamant on both points and won’t change his mind.” He’d tried to make Jimmy change his mind. No amount of coaxing -- promising to let Jimmy surface for more than a few minutes at a time or letting him surface to eat or do something he liked -- worked. Jimmy refused to enlighten him.

“Oh boy.” Dean reached for his jacket. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go find Sam and finish the stake-out with him, which means I’ll be _gone_ for hours. _We’ll_ be gone for _hours_. You’ll be _alone_ here in the room.”

“And? I’m alone many times. How will this be different?” He was puzzled by the suggestion and the stresses Dean was putting on some of the words.

Jacket on, Dean slipped his room key into one pocket. “Because this time, you’re going to take off your clothes, open up those two magazines, and let the naked pictures of those magnificent ladies work some magic.”

“They’re paper and ink, Dean. There’s no magic in them to work.”

A long sigh left him. He moved around the bed Castiel sat on, picked up a box of tissues and a small tube, setting them next to him. “Just touch…do what feels good physically when you look at the pictures.”

While he still didn’t quite get what Dean was saying, he raised his brows and nodded again. “Okay.”

“If you need more time, call us. We’ll give you more time. Though I think six and a half hours should be sufficient even for a novice like you.” He strode to the door. “Have fun! See you at dawn!”

Castiel perused the first magazine Dean had given him. He didn’t take the suggestion to take his clothes off, nor did he pay any attention to the two items by his hip. About three fourths through the magazine, Dean had turned down the pages of a two-page feature. Expecting a pale blond or an Asian woman, he was surprised to find the woman featured had dark blond hair. The two pages had several very artistic shots of a naked female with an enjoyable figure. She was barely covered by a sheet draped about her.

He felt the beginnings of a stirring in his groin area that seemed to become greater the longer he looked at her. It felt good, so he kept looking at her.

Her face wasn’t clear however, revealed in tiny fragments only, a thing that frustrated him, so he studied each picture, mentally fitting the pieces of her face together like a puzzle.

Setting that magazine open beside him, he decided to glance through the second one while he thought about the woman. To his surprise, he found her featured in that one, too, although she was obviously older. He placed the magazines side-by-side, scrutinized them. Yes, definitely the same woman.

Had Dean noticed, he wondered, adding the pieces of her face that were visible to his mental puzzle.

He was still sitting there, staring at the open magazines when Dean and Sam walked in in the morning. The finished puzzle was not what he’d expected. Rather, it was…surprising. And still quite puzzling given what he knew of her.

The woman in both magazines was Ellen Harvelle. How had that happened? When had that happened? He’d have to get the information from her, as he’d lost free access to some of the personal information that had been once available to him. He ran one finger along the curve of her body in one particularly lovely shot.

It _was_ her. He’d reworked those pieces of the face several times and always came back to her.

“Cas?” Dean yawned. “Tell me you didn’t sit there all night doing nothing. The whole point of me skipping sleep was for you to learn --”

“I have much to think about,” he told them as he took both magazines and left. For days, he watched Ellen and Jo, waiting until Jo took off on her own to go visit a friend. This would be much easier if he could simply read Ellen’s memories, a skill unfortunately out of reach at present. Not that he’d informed Dean of that loss…. 

He knocked on Ellen’s motel room door instead of appearing inside. He didn’t want to make her mad before he’d gotten the answer he required.

She invited him inside with a wide smile and friendly hug of greeting that he returned rather stiffly. “What’re you doing here,” she asked. “Dean and Sam with you?”

He saw no reason to draw this out, removing that first magazine and opening it before holding it out to her.

Ellen raised her brows, half smiling in curiosity. “What’s this, Cas?” She looked down at the pages, her smile fading away to annoyance. “I was young and stupid. Very stupid. Where did you get this?”

“You posed nude for photographs.”

“Young. Stupid. The two do go together very well.” She closed the magazine and tipped her head back to look him in the eyes.

“For money?”

“Hell no.” She shook her head. “I had no idea he’d taken them to sell them. He told me they were for his art exhibit: the play of light and shadow on the human body. Again, stupid.”

“Does Jo know?”

“Yeah, sure she does. We talk about it all the time. No girl should go without taking her clothes off for some deceiving jerk in front of a camera. It’s an essential feminine right of passage.”

Castiel considered her seriously for the space of about two seconds before he recognized that she was using sarcasm. “That was a stupid question wasn’t it?” He took the magazine back.

“Sure was.” Ellen moved to one bed and sat at the head of it, against the pillows piled there. He saw a word puzzle game book and pencil on the nightstand.

“Why did you take your clothes off?”

“You mean aside from being young and stupid?”

“Yes.”

“An excess of Jack and Jim.”

“Who?”

“The whiskey brothers.”

“I don’t understand.” He followed her to the bed and sat on the end, turned slightly to face her. “Who are they and why was there an excess of them?”

“Jack Daniels and Jim Beam, Cas. They’re both whiskey. Jim Beam is a bourbon and Jack Daniels is a sour mash whiskey. Same overall liquor category.”

“Are they stronger than beer?”

“They have some kick if you don’t usually drink them. You should try them some time.”

“Maybe I will. So,” he placed a hand on the bedspread, smoothed it a little, “you let a man get you drunk?”

Ellen chuckled. “Well, I wasn’t always the staid, boring, responsible woman you see before you. I was a bit of a handful growing up, more so than Jo has ever been, but don’t tell her that. She only has my word for it that she’s a worse hellion than I ever was.”

“I don’t consider you staid or boring at all, Ellen.” Intriguing maybe, but certainly not either of those other words.

“That’s a relief. Did you stop to think that maybe I got _him_ drunk?”

“It doesn’t stand to reason that was the case. In none of the pictures was it apparent the photographer was intoxicated, therefore I must conclude he wasn’t.”

She stretched her legs out, crossed her ankles. “Do you like the pictures?”

“They’re…aesthetically pleasing.” The indent of her waist sliding out into the smooth curve of her hip. The fullness of her breasts. Her legs…. Yes, very pleasing.

“Aesthetically pleasing,” she repeated, lips pursing as she eyed him. “Cas? How long have you been carrying that magazine around looking at those old pictures of me?”

He thought a moment. Something in her tone indicated he was venturing into dangerous territory, yet he didn’t know why it was dangerous. “Five days.” He paused, corrected himself. “No. Six days. However….” He now took the second magazine from his coat. “Though I will accept the young and stupid explanation for the first, _this_ publication is a bit newer.”

A dull flush spread across her cheeks, breath leaving her lips in a loud whoosh. “Oh, Lord,” she groaned. 

“I couldn’t claim that title, Ellen. It would be blasphemy.”

She looked away. “For awhile when Jo was younger and after Bill died, we went through a spell where the bar didn’t do too well. I had to find a way to bring in enough cash for groceries that didn’t clash with regular working hours. I answered an ad for models for the art department at the local college. The hours were right. I could go in for the morning class and be back in time to open the bar for the day. It was easy work until the professor got caught selling pictures he’d taken of all the models in secret. By the time he got caught, it was too late to get the pictures back.”

“I see.” Human justice was, often times, slow and unsuited to the specific crime in his opinion. “Ellen?”

“Cas?” She glanced back at him.

“Perhaps you should stay away from men with cameras. Associating with them hasn’t been a wise decision on your part. They tend to take naked pictures of you.”

“I didn’t know the second one had a camera. He clicked in secret.”

She was getting defensive he noticed, shoulders hunching the same way he’d seen Sam and Dean’s both whenever they became defensive. He sought to reassure her. “I don’t have a camera. I only have a phone.”

“Yeah?” She held out her hand. “Let me see it.”

Castiel took it from his pocket and gave it to her. Ellen flipped it open, thumb moving on the keypad. Standing, she raised it up.

“Say ‘cheese’, Sweetie.”

He frowned. What did cheese have to do with anything? “Why cheese?”

A light flashed from the phone and she turned it so he could see his own -- okay, Jimmy’s, but it was sort of his, right? -- puzzled face on the small screen.

“Apparently, I do have a camera.”

She closed it. “Sure do.”

“By my own reasoning then, I can’t be trusted with you.” He raised a brow, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “There is a chance I’ll take naked pictures of you and publish them.” He wouldn’t, but he thought she might appreciate him saying that.

Ellen smiled. “Well, by my reasoning, you’re entirely trustworthy. Considering you didn’t even know the camera function was there, I bet you’ve no idea how to access it even.”

“I don’t need a camera. I have an excellent memory for faces.”

“Mmm. What features do you actually use on that phone?”

“The basic phone services and voicemail.” What else did he need?

“Call waiting? Three-way?”

“Three-way? I thought a three-way was a sexual behavior? Dean says --”

“I can guess what Dean says. Did you buy the phone and plan yourself?”

He nodded. “More or less. I ‘shopped around’.” Meaning he looked until he found a store that wasn’t busy and only had one person working.

“You…‘shopped around’. Right.”

“The woman in the store was very helpful.” It had taken her a few seconds to say anything to him. She’d been too busy giggling. He’d waited, wondering what she found humorous.

“I’ll bet she was.” Leaning back against the table, Ellen dragged her gaze up and down him. It sounded as though she didn’t quite believe him, so he endeavored to explain in a more satisfactory manner.

“She set up the service and even programmed the numbers in for me. Dean’s, Sam’s, Bobby’s. She seemed to be having trouble with her clothing though. On two separate occasions, her shirt exposed her undergarment and her skirt slid indecently short on her thighs, requiring her to tug on both items to put them back in their proper places again.” He blinked, tilting his head a little to one side. “She didn’t appear to have Dean’s fetish on personal space either.”

“She put her hand on your leg at all? Lean towards you a lot?”

“Yes. She was a friendly woman.”

“About how old would you say she was?”

“Twenty.” 

“Ahhh.” A knowing gleam lit her eyes. “And you went in there flashing helpless puppy dog eyes just like Sam does, I suppose?” She didn’t wait for his reply. “Pass me back the phone.”

He did, watched as she pressed her thumb to the pad again.

“She was flirting with you, Cas. When you asked her to put the numbers in, she took it as code for ‘add yours too and I’ll call you’. See?” Sitting beside him, Ellen showed him the screen.

He read the letters displayed there. “Brittany Becket.” Beneath the name was a number. “So her clothing malfunctions --”

“Weren’t malfunctions. She was trying to figure out if you were checking her out like she was you.”

“Her hand on my leg was not a simple friendly gesture?”

“Honey, I’m betting you were giving off so many conflicting signals she couldn’t decide if you were straight, gay, married, or just plain clueless, and finally landed on hot to trot. You can bet she told her girlfriends all about the hot guy who came in and went through an elaborate plan just to get her number. Didn’t you notice the number was there?”

Yes, he had, but as it wasn’t Dean, Sam, or Bobby’s, he’d ignored it.

Ellen pressed the phone into his hand. “Poor girl. She probably pretended later that you’d called and turned out to be a freak to save face with her friends.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to call her.”

She shook her head. “You’re adorable. Honestly adorable.”

“Thank you?” Castiel returned the phone to his pocket.

“Sure. Now, who gave you the porn?”

“Dean.” He answered her without hesitation.

Ellen sighed. “I sort of figured it was him. Why did he give it to you?”

Castiel explained in great detail, starting with the ‘personal’ lectures and ending with Dean’s rather vague instructions on what he was supposed to do with the magazines. As he spoke, she slid away from him a little ways, gaze roaming slowly down him and back up, over and over.

“Dean was right. It _is_ a natural human behavior.”

He watched her with curiosity. “So you do it too?”

The flush on her cheeks deepened and she turned her attention to the floor. “Sweetie, sometimes it’s the only way a woman can enjoy herself, if you catch my drift? Guys don’t always get it done, either because they can’t or they just won’t.”

“Oh.” He leaned over a fraction. “I’d always do my best to ‘get it done’.”

Her laugh was soft and hesitant. “I’m sure you would.”

So she wouldn’t misunderstand, he clarified, “I never do less than my best effort in anything. Ever. I _would_ ‘get it done’.”

“I’ll certainly keep that in mind, Cas,” she replied in a dry tone.

“Please do.” He sat tall once more, certain she understood he meant it.

Ellen crossed her arms. “Dean would probably refute this, mind you, but there’s really very little valuable information porn can teach you.”

“It does seem rather repetitive.”

“Let’s go shopping then.” She stood, patting her right jeans pocket and dragging out a set of keys.

“Where are we going?”

“Local bookstore. There are a couple books out that I think might help you.”

“Books.” Books were good. He liked to read. “You like to read?” He eyed her with growing interest. Castiel read whenever he could. There were many things he wanted to know that could be found in books. There was information and even stories. The human race had a wonderful scope of imagination, creating fictional worlds that were sometimes just as rich and full as their own.

“Oh, I’m full of surprises.”

When he finally returned to Dean and Sam, three more days had gone by, making his total away nine days. Sam was absent from the room, Dean at the small table playing cards. He looked up when Castiel appeared just inside the door.

“You could knock once in awhile. That’d be great.”

Stretching out a hand, Castiel rapped his knuckles on the door. “Knocking serves no purpose inside, but if you wish me to I will.”

“No, you should do that outside.”

“I’m already inside.” He frowned. “You wish me to go outside and come back in?”

“Never mind.” Dean sighed, took a long pull off the beer bottle at his elbow. “Where’ve you been for the better part of two weeks anyway?” He gathered up the cards, shuffled them.

Removing both magazines from his coat, Castiel laid the newest one on the table. “I thank you for the loan of this publication.”

Dean picked it up, carefully scrutinized each page. “Good, good. No wrinkles, tears, or smudges. Excellent.”

“And I thank you again for the gift of this one, but I now return it to you in the same condition as it was given.” This one he held out for Dean to take from him.

“You’re re-gifting porn?” His expression was confused, as though he himself hadn’t done just that with that very magazine. “Why?”

“Because I’m no longer in need of the photographic contents.”

Skepticism crossed his face. “No longer in need? What’s that supposed to mean? You’re a guy. Of course you’re in need. What was wrong with it? Didn’t any of those beauties appeal? Because if that’s the case, we’ll go buy you a different magazine. There are tons of --”

“There was one,” he admitted.

“And? Now we’re talking.” He opened the magazine. “What page?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Ahhh. The honey-haired lovely.” Dean got the page opened, blew a kiss at the picture. “Hey there sweetheart. Long time no see.” He sighed. “Yeah, she’s a good one. Always helps a guy out. Why are you returning her?”

“I met her personally.”

The statement actually made Dean’s jaw drop. For nearly a minute, he was even speechless.

“Dean?”

He cleared his throat, set the magazine aside and crossed his arms on the table. One hand raised, index finger pointing at Castiel. “You mean to tell me that you tracked down the model and met her?”

“I did, yes. We spent several days together.”

Now he blinked. Once, twice, three times. A slow grin appeared. “Cas. You devilish angel you. Her figure still good? Everything all perky in the right places?”

He let his own smile blossom a fraction. “She’s an exceptional woman of many varied talents.” It was true, after all, just not in the way Dean was imagining if that gleam in his eyes was any indication. “Her figure is still quite enjoyable.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” He clapped his hands together once, then rubbed them. “Okay, tell me all about it. Leave nothing out, no detail untold.”

“Gentleman never tell,” he demurred, though he didn’t think Ellen would mind him telling Dean about their miniature golf outing. Or the bowling. He _had_ apologized for the events at both places. He’d simply been curious as to where the balls went when they disappeared. Nor did he think the Ellen would mind him telling Dean she’d bought him two rather informative books that were tucked in the pockets of his coat. He looked forward to spending some more time reading. The human body was a fascinating creation.

“Pay no attention to Sammy’s words of wisdom on the subject. He’s just shy. Tell all, Cas. Come on! She still got that mole on her right butt cheek?”

“Yes.” He said this with confidence, despite not having any idea if Ellen did or not.

“How about the drapes and the carpet?”

Castiel frowned. The what? Did he mean the motel room? How would either of those be relevant? “What about them?”

“Do they still match?”

“The décor of the room was average in comparison to those I’ve seen you in.” It was code for something. Had to be. But what?

Dean shook his head. “No, I mean the….” He laughed. “Never mind. You dog, you. We should celebrate. Hold on.” He pulled out his phone, dialed. “Sam, meet us at that bar down the street from the motel. We’ve got some celebrating to do.” His grin faded. “No, Lucifer didn’t gank himself.” A few seconds passed, an annoyed grimace twisting his lips. “No, I didn’t mix a packet of Wyler’s Fruit Punch in a bottle of vodka and chug it. Again.” He glanced at Cas. “No, Sam, the hot chick at the gas station didn’t…will you shut up and listen to me? It’s about Cas.” He listened a moment. “No, he didn’t…. Oh, you’re hilarious. Just meet us there, will you?” Dean hung up.

“Is he meeting us?”

“Sure is.” Standing, he put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “There are many things I could say at this milestone moment of manhood; many comments that are appropriate, but I’ll say only this,” he raised a brow, “well done, Grasshopper. Well done.”

Castiel stared at him a moment. The words obviously meant something to Dean, yet he couldn’t help asking, “Why did you call me ‘grasshopper’, Dean? I’m neither green, nor a small plant-eating flying, jumping insect that makes noises. It makes no sense --”

“And…you’ve ruined the moment.” He patted Castiel’s shoulder.

“I apologize.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s gone now.” He grabbed his jacket and slipped it on. “Shut the door behind you.”

He did as Dean asked and, as they walked along the sidewalk, the meaning of ‘drapes’ and ‘carpet’ the way Dean had used them hit him.

Oh.

That was a _very_ different meaning to those words.

Castiel thought about the pictures, then about the bathroom door cracked when Ellen had taken a shower. He hadn’t meant to look, but through that crack he’d seen her step from the shower and dry off. Nor had he let on that he’d looked when she’d emerged from the bathroom swathed in her robe and nightclothes. He focused his attention on a specific portion of the memory….

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“They do still match,” he told him and entered the bar.

“I knew you were pretending not to understand what I meant!”

Castiel smothered a smile. It wasn’t like he’d lied to Dean. He’d simply…let him make his own conclusions.

Was that wrong?

The End.


End file.
